


Ithaca

by snarkmcsnark



Category: Mayans M.C. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkmcsnark/pseuds/snarkmcsnark
Summary: "I'm just trying to understand how you ended up here, Ms. Thomas." --The story of how a woman moves on from heartbreak to someone bigger, bolder, and more dangerous, or the story of how she falls in love again.





	1. Chapter 1

_Baby, baby, can’t you see that I’m smiling?_  
Can’t you see there’s a part of me that’s brand new?  
Used to be was a part of me felt like hiding  
But now it comes through

* * *

 

They pay tens of thousands of dollars for an overpriced, name-brand education only to return once a year to outbid each other for a brick on the wall. Letters engraved in stone to spell out variations of ‘my bank account is bigger than yours’ and ‘fuck all of you.’ Numbers roll off champagne-laced tongues like the zeroes aren’t tied by some invisible thread to the green faces of dead presidents. Names dropped from the highest rungs of Forbes’ Richest People in America — Buffett, Bloomberg, Bezos, and Ballmer. It’s the kind of tiresome affair reserved for elitist pricks and pseudo-academics.

In that moment, Emily Thomas has never related more in her life with Holden Caulfield’s thesis against phony people.

She slinks away in a shadowed enclave of the Fuertes Observatory, where her school is holding the last alumni event of the winter semester. She’s taken the job with the catering team at the behest of her roommate Julia — a 22 year-old aspiring CEO dead set on amassing the business cards of Cornell’s best and brightest.

“Em, you need to network to get work.”

How to network with self-important assholes when she’s invisible until there’s a need for a Veuve Clicquot refill, she doesn’t know, but she attempts to make it seem like she’s trying. The last thing Emily wants is to be at the receiving end of her roommate’s career pep talks.

Across the open area of the observatory, Emily watches as Julia holds out a tray of hors d’oeuvres while effortlessly discussing whatever-it-is that’s so interesting on page 27 of the latest issue of The Economist. She’s a head bitch in charge in-the-making and she anticipates she’ll need an attorney with proportionate abilities for when she inevitably gets sued by litigation-happy customers; so she’s invested in Emily’s success, perhaps even more than Emily herself.  
There’s a list of people to whom introductions must be made — lawyers, judges, and politicians.   
  
The list gives Emily hives the first time she sees it, and she almost bails on the job even though it’s easy money. Her roommate also reminds her she doesn’t have anything better to do on a Friday evening since she keeps rejecting the advances of young, self-important assholes  — the kind with all of the arrogance but without any of the success to back it up. Emily begins to protest until she realizes it’s futile (and true). Her roommate, who she loves and loathes in equal measure, will just remind her that the man she’s still so irrevocably, stupidly in love with is a convicted felon. 

“Girl, you are holding yourself back.”

Emily feels restrained as she stands against the wall, observing the flurry of people in designer dresses and bespoke suits. One woman catches her eye, not only because she’s beautiful and poised but also, because she happens to be Olivia Williams — a rising star in the US District Court for the Southern District of New York. Before her 30th birthday, this woman was instrumental in a case that dismantled an NYPD Narcotics unit for corruption and use of excessive force. Overnight she became a Twitter sensation with people creating hashtags for her heroism, making calls for her to run for public office, and signing petitions for her to walk the Victoria’s Secret runway. 

The list was a joke until she saw Olivia Williams’ name. Emily had heard a rumor that the Cornell alumnus was looking for a law student to mentor for the summer. For several days, it was all Emily could think about. Working for this aspirational woman would be a dream come true (and it would look so fucking good on her résumé). She imagined herself subletting a studio in the city, taking the 5 down to Saint Andrews Plaza, and having a mid-day coffee break at one of those carts right outside the courthouse. 

Despite having been in college for the last five years, she always tried to avoid envisioning her future. School, in a way, was a distraction from all the other things one was expected to have in their early twenties — a thriving social life, an adoring boyfriend, and interests that didn’t include pining for an ex whittling away in state prison.

Olivia gracefully moves through the room like she’s this shining beacon of hope; meanwhile, Emily stays in place, scared shitless of rejection. Normally, she doesn’t care and that helps her feel fearless. 

She shakes off her nerves and follows Olivia, past a small crowd of people who are deflated to hear she can’t stay to chat, down a hallway away from the stuffy party, around a corner where Emily stalls and stays out of sight.  
  
“I’m sorry. I accepted the invitation before I heard you’d be speaking tonight.” She hears Olivia speak. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have brought him with me.”  
  
“Everyone will still be asking who gave you that ring.” It’s a man’s voice, and Emily doesn’t need to see his face to know his words are laced with disdain. “Six months after we end our engagement and you say ‘yes’ to the next man who asks you to marry him?”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Mig—”

“— I’m not embarrassed.” 

“What do you want me to say?”

“I just want you to admit that you don’t love him.”

Olivia scoffs. “You’ve got to be fucking with me.”

“He’s a political consultant in D.C., right?” The man challenges. “How fucking expedient for your career.”

“Don’t —”

“It looks a lot better than you marrying me and having the public turn on you because you’re a hypocrite.”

Olivia strikes him, palm connecting to cheek, and it makes Emily inhale sharply. She presses her hands over her mouth, hoping to god they hadn’t noticed her eavesdropping.

“Go to hell.”

“I’m already there, cariño.”

* * *

Heels click on the marble floor as Emily hears Olivia round the corner back to the main hallway.  Emily turns to hide behind a display commemorating the Astrophysics department. She controls her breaths, trying not to let it match the quickening pace of her heart. She peers past the edge of the display to see her shining beacon of hope disappear into the crowd. 

“Are you a reporter?”

Her eyes widen and her breath quickens. It’s Olivia’s ex — newly slapped and standing on the other side of the display. 

“How much for you not to print a story about what you just heard?”

Emily inches her head forward past the display, and her breath hitches in her throat. The man is staring straight ahead, brows knitted together and eyes narrowed as he ponders the text on the history of Cornell’s contributions to Astrophysics.  She’s not sure what she expected when she pictured the man who used to be in a relationship with Olivia Williams. But it shouldn’t have surprised her this much that he would turn out to be just as gorgeous. And yet here she is finding herself lost for words at first sight.

“I— I’m not a reporter.”

He glances at her for the first time and his expression softens, a smirk playing on his lips. “So you just like to listen in on private conversations?”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” she begins to ramble. “I was hoping to talk to Olivia about an opportunity to work in her office this summer… So I followed her down here… and now I realize that I sound like a bit of a stalker.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. I don’t know if you know but she hates me.” He rubs his hand over his right cheek, which is visibly pinker than the other. “Are you a law student?”

She nods as she steps out from behind the display, standing close enough to get a whiff of his intoxicating cologne. They share a long look before his gaze drifts to the newly opened bottle of champagne in her hand. 

“Would you represent a thief in court?”

“What?” Before she knows it, his hand wraps around the neck of the bottle, his skin brushing over hers electric. He takes a healthy swig straight from the bottle, takes her by the hand and leads her through a fire exit at the end of the hall.

* * *

It’s early May yet the night is crisp. Her shoulders hunch up to her ears as the cold air hits her the moment they step outside. The man shrugs off his suit jacket, the insides lined with an intricate silk pattern, and he lays it over her shoulders. The warmth invades her senses as she closes her eyes and inhales the scent of smoky woods, rich tobacco, and something she can’t put a finger on but can only describe as sensual. 

The man with dark hair and dark eyes takes her hand and leads the way down a path closer to the thick of trees. At a fork in the path, he takes neither, walks straight ahead until they reach a fallen tree, its trunk carved out by the storm to make perfect seating for two. 

“You take all your girlfriends back here when you were in college?” Emily teases as she takes the spot beside him.

He frowns, takes another swig from the bottle, and passes it onto her. “Only the one.”

“Oh… Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed —”

“— That I got around?” he asks with a  playful smirk. “Oh, I  _did_. Before I met Liv and then I thought she’d made an honest man out of me.”

She laughs as she remembers the year she turned 15, when all the girls from school were busy planning their quinceaneras. There was a boy a year ahead who got asked by at least ten girls to be their dance partner for their quinces, but he refused even though it was completely out-of-character for a teenage boy with raging hormones and an older brother calling him tonto loco for passing up all these girls for the one guera in ninth grade. She remembers that boy taking her by the hand to the baseball diamond after dark, standing on the pitcher’s mound, his arms wrapped around her waist. And at 16, after watching a cheesy rom-com starring only white lead actors, he told her that she’d made an honest man out of him and hoped that line would be enough to get her to finally kiss him. She did, but it wasn’t because of the line. 

It definitely wasn’t because of the line.

The man nudges her shoulder. “Something on your mind?”

Emily glances sideways. “It’s nothing.” She takes a drink, the rim of the bottle warm on her lips and, for a brief second, she imagines if the man’s lips feel just as warm. 

“I’m guilty of that, too — thinking of nothing but looking so pensive that everyone has to know what’s going on in here.” He smiles sheepishly as he taps the side of his head.

“I know. And they get so disappointed when you tell them.”

“I’m sorry I’m not as interesting as you assumed.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender, his smile breaking out in full grin. 

Emily rears her head back and eyes him carefully. “I doubt that. A woman told you to go to hell and you said you were already there.”

He lowers his head, peering at her from under thick, dark lashes. There’s something about him that makes her feel so at ease, like she can stay under this canopy of trees, talking to him until tomorrow’s light filters through the leaves. And yet there’s something about him so mysterious and exciting. There’s an air of danger to him that intrigues her, that pulls her in, that makes her heart beat faster when he studies her intensely with those eyes. 

They talk for over an hour. She learns so much about him yet she can’t say she knows him at all. He runs a few businesses — ventures he started using capital from his trust. He starts to defend himself when she rolls her eyes, but she’s only teasing him. It’s not his fault he was born with a silver spoon. She’s met a few spoiled, trust fund kids having spent the last year at an Ivy League for law school. But when he speaks of his ideas, she sees passion and conviction in his eyes like he doesn’t depend on anyone else to be his shining beacon of hope. He’s hungry for his own success, and there’s something about it that’s contagious; it makes her feel motivated to do better in a way Julia’s pep talks never can.

“Mierda. Creo que estoy borracho,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn’t think she hears him, let alone understand him, so he’s shocked (and maybe a little turned on) when she turns to him and says, “Yo también. Y se supone que debo estar trabajando.”

Then they talk for another hour when they learn they grew up on opposite sides of the border. At least until he was 13 and his parents shipped him off to boarding school in the East Coast. Their lives couldn’t have been more different, but there was a familiarity about him that made her feel like she was home.   
  
They polish off every last drop from the bottle, her head drowning and spinning in sweetness. She holds his jacket closer to her body, letting the fine wool and silk shield her from the cold. His arm wraps around her shoulders and he inches closer to keep her warm. She leans into him and feels protected in a way she hasn’t felt in a long time. The thought of it makes her smile.

She doesn’t know how long they stay huddled up together in silence before she feels his breath ghosting over her cheek.  “Best we head back inside.”  
  
She nods even though she wishes she can stay with the man whose name, she’s only just realized, she doesn’t know. As they travel down the path toward the observatory, the man must be thinking the same thing because he stops in his tracks and holds his hand out to introduce himself. “Miguel.”

“Emily.”

His hand feels warm against her cold hands. He rubs them between his palms, a small smile appearing on his handsome face. 

“I should probably return your jacket,” she says as she begins to shrug it off her shoulders.

“Keep it,” he says, letting his fingers slide down the lapels so he can straighten them out. “Looks better on you.”

“Fine. I’ll keep it for now.” She smirks as she feels a wave of confidence surge through her veins. “But you’ll have to take it off me next time we meet.”

“ _Off_  you?”

Her cheeks flush crimson, her body growing hot at the realization of what she’d just said. “I meant off my hands like you can have it back when I hand it over to you. I didn’t mean —” Emily shakes her head in embarrassment and Miguel cups her cheeks to steady her movements. “— Wha— What are you doing?”  
  
“Making sure you have more than just my jacket to remember me by.”   
  
He kisses her soft and tender. His lips warmer than she imagined as they slot over hers, tasting of champagne and the lingering depth of whiskey. She drowns in him, submerged in a fog that makes her lose herself and forget every standard she had for every guy that ever tried to replace the one man she ever loved. She doesn’t think of him. Not when Miguel holds her, fingertips so gentle as they brush across her cheekbones. She doesn’t think of him. Not when Miguel breathes into the kiss, “eres hermosa.” She doesn’t think of him when Miguel grows fiercer, tongue slipping into her mouth, teeth tugging on her bottom lip, his body pressed on her so she can feel him — all of him. And then he’s done. Breaths coming out shallow and rapid, his eyes so dark they rival the night. 

She doesn’t think of him. Not until later that night when she’s in bed and she tries to strangle the guilt that chokes her conscience.   
  
“I have to go. My card is in the pocket. Call me.” he rasps before he turns and crosses the threshold into the observatory.

* * *

Emily manages to slip through a side door, stow away Miguel’s jacket in her bag, and return to the party without her boss noticing she was one server short for two hours. Her roommate, however, notices and gives her an earful, demanding to know where she’s been and why she’s rosier than the Cornell sweatshirts they sell at the bookstore. 

“Were you getting fucked?”

She shushes Julia, pushing her out of the way when two members of the business school faculty pass by and throw them hard looks. “I was not,” she begins, not really wanting to explain herself, but at the same time being unable to help the smile from creeping onto her face. “I met someone.”

“Oh.” Her roommate takes a step back in surprise and wags her eyebrows. “That kind of networking, huh?”

“Shut up.” Emily’s cheeks feel like they’re now on fire.

“Oh my god. Who is it?”

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop badgering me the rest of the night?”

She holds a hand up. “I swear.”

Emily looks out into the room. All the guests are seated in round tables facing the stage, where the president of the university is wrapping up his speech. 

“Where is he?”

“I’m looking —”

“— I would like everyone to welcome our honorary speaker for this evening. He graduated from the Johnson School of Management with the highest distinction and, today, he runs four successful subsidiary companies under the Galindo Enterprise. Please, everyone, welcome Mr. Miguel Galindo.”

“Emily?” Her roommate waves a hand over her face. “Hello?”

Miguel walks across the stage to shake the president’s hand, and when he takes his place at the podium, his eyes connect with Emily’s. He looks away, commencing his speech right when he realizes she knows who he is. Of course she does. Anyone who’s lived in Santo Padre, California knows about the Galindo family who lives on the other side of the border. They make their money manufacturing textiles and running a whole gamut of “small” businesses — laundromats, specialty grocery stores, and taquerias among many others. But she knows where all that money leads to and it’s not quinceanera dresses and coin laundry; it’s cocaine and heroin. 

She overhears a woman from a nearby table. “Where’s his jacket?”

Emily knows she should be hiding back in the shadows.

She knows she should be running far away from him.

But there’s something about him that makes her feel brand new, and she’s been chasing that feeling for so long she doesn’t want to give it up. It’s a second chance. And it’s worth selling her soul to the devil.

* * *

She doesn’t think of EZ. Not when she lets Miguel into her bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Ithaca, being a college town, is quieter in the summer. It receives its fair share of tourists and hikers, but not enough to make up for the mass exodus of undergrads, who circle back home to celebrate Fourth of July weekend with their families. Every year it’s the same story. Students come home to learn that  _nonna_  will never understand why a stance against industrial farming is enough to refuse to eat her meat lasagna. Parents are alarmed to learn that their children are adults now and can say ‘no’ when they’re told to eat something for grandma’s sake. Students return to campus with stories of an uncle going off on a rant about gender-neutral bathrooms, slippery slopes, and government-sanctioned decimation of masculinity.   
  
“The liberal agenda uses post-secondary education to brainwash young people.”  
It’s the kind of nonsense uttered by a family member that makes one wish they could sever a branch off the family tree.   
  
The conversations overheard at the campus bar are more relaxed during the break. No one’s arguing politics and discussing freshman-level philosophy in crowded booths. Even the volume of cases brought up to the legal aid office is significantly reduced. Emily Thomas knows this because she’s sitting at her desk, hoping for a PolSci major to show up to file a grievance claim against her capitalist Econ professor. With her feet propped up on the desk, she bounces a rubber band ball against the wall of her cubicle. Her computer screen lights up and she scrambles for the mouse to read the new message.

> _**From: M.Galindo@GalindoEnterprises.com  
>  To: emily.thomas@cornell.edu** _   
>    
>  _Now you have no excuse to skip the most important meal of the day._   
>    
>  _Miguel_

The email isn’t a work-related task to keep her busy and make the day go faster, but it’s certainly a welcome addition to her inbox. She grins from ear to ear as she remembers waking up that morning to an unexpected delivery of fresh flowers and croissants.

The day before, Miguel called and asked how she was doing. She wasn’t planning on telling him but she did briefly mention she was feeling tired and unwell. He wouldn’t let it go until she told him her symptoms. And she wouldn’t let him forget that he was a businessman, not a doctor.   
  
“Have you eaten today?”   
  
She wrestled with the idea of embellishing the truth by saying she had more than just a granola bar while heading out to the office, but she couldn’t do it. He sounded so concerned and so determined to help her even when he was thousands of miles away in California.   
  
“No wonder you’re so tired.”  
  
“It was my choice to sleep in,” she told him. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I swear.”  
  
He groans on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept you up all night.”  
  
It was true, but they had both decided to ignore the time difference and continue talking on the phone for hours. It was silly, but neither one wanted to stop hearing the other’s voice.

> _**From: emily.thomas@cornell.edu  
>  To: M.Galindo@GalindoEnterprises.com** _   
>    
>  _Thank you, but I can’t get used to it. I’m sleeping early tonight and making my own breakfast in the morning. I’m thinking a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and a giant mug of coffee._   
>    
>  _P.S. How did you know my favorite flowers are blue hydrangeas?_   
>    
>  _Emily_

She hits send and waits for his response. There are no new messages in her inbox and no one coming through the doors seeking legal assistance. She likes working for legal aid when there’s actually something to do, but it’s idle days like these that make her wish she had tried to secure that internship at Olivia Williams’ office. A huge motivator would be the invaluable work experience she’d gain working at a District Court, and yet there’s a small part of her that’s motivated by wicked curiosity.  
  
It’s been a little over a month since she met Miguel Galindo at the alumni event. She’s spoken to him on the phone a few times. They’ve exchanged friendly emails and the occasional naughty text message — nothing obscene. She can’t help it when the man knows just what to say to elicit a similarly flirty response. And yet, in spite of all their conversations, she still has this strange feeling the man is a mystery.   
  
He tells her about flying to Hong Kong to meet with a client. He’s on the phone as he walks through a bustling city, describing every detail and confessing how much he wishes she could be there right beside him. He apologizes when he rings her late. He admits he’s had a few too many to drink, then he grumbles something barely coherent about his father’s expectations, before asking about her day.   
  
Emily doesn’t press. She’s learned quickly that Miguel can only be so vulnerable to a degree. There are moments when the man wants to reveal a piece of himself to her, but he stops himself and switches near-seamlessly with such control one barely notices. She also doesn’t press because, when Miguel asks questions, she isn’t completely honest. She tells him everything about who she is and where she came from while omitting one vital element to the whole story.   
  
In doing so, the story reads like someone else’s.  
  
It’s only fair they’re a mystery to each other.

> _**From: M.Galindo@GalindoEnterprises.com  
>  To: emily.thomas@cornell.edu  
> ** _   
>  _I like spoiling you. It’s the least I can do since I can’t physically be there to take you out to dinner and show you a good time (I’ll leave the rest to your imagination). I’m hoping it keeps you interested until I can free up my schedule and fly up there to see you again._   
>    
>  _In case you didn’t know, I do want to see you again._   
>    
>  _About the flowers, I didn’t know they were your favorite. I just picked the ones that reminded me most of your eyes. Tienes hermosos ojos, Emily._   
>    
>  _Miguel_

* * *

When Emily arrives home from work, she’s so tired she doesn’t register the image of her apartment drowning in blue hydrangeas. Every surface is covered in crystal or ceramic vases piled high and full of flowers. The summer breeze wafts in, swirling in the fragrant floral perfume.   
  
“Your boyfriend is madly in love with you.” Julia appears from behind a wall; she’s carrying a tall, cylindrical vase with — you guessed it — blue hydrangeas.   
  
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Emily says as she drops her bag to the floor. “And he’s not in love with me.”  
  
“Please.” Julia rolls her eyes as she sets the vase down on the last available square inch on their dining table. “All of this must’ve cost a fortune. No man buys out every florist in the state to impress a girl he only likes a little bit. He’s totally in love with you.”  
  
“This is chump change to someone like him.” Emily bites down on her bottom lip to try to keep her smile at bay. She doesn’t think her roommate is anywhere near the ballpark in identifying Miguel’s feelings for her; but she has to admit, it makes her feel giddy to hear that he likes her enough to pull off such an over-the-top, romantic gesture. “I shouldn’t have mentioned they were my favorite. Now what are we going to do with all of this?”  
  
“Take a million selfies.” Julia holds her phone out, pouts her lips like the long-lost redhead Kardashian-Jenner, and snaps a picture. “Then we send them over to the retirement home as per Mr. Ga-lin-do’s instructions.”  
  
“You’re kidding?”  
  
Julia holds up a card between her fingers, and before she knows it Emily has snatched it out of her grasp.

> _Emily,_
> 
> _I like spoiling you, but I know that’s not who you are. So enjoy these flowers and keep only what you want. Someone will come by later this evening to pick up the rest of them to send them to the Cayuga Retirement Home on your behalf._  
>   
>  Espero verte antes de que las flores mueran.  
>   
> Miguel

“Forget law school. Forget the internship,” Julia says, her eyes wide as saucers. “Marry him.”  
  
Emily laughs. “Are you high?”  
  
“Think about it. You never have to worry about a thing in your life. The man is successful, loaded, and — not to mention — fucking gorgeous. And he’s nice to old people. So he clearly has a heart….”  
  
Julia goes on hyping up Miguel based on the extensive Google search she conducted when they arrived home from the alumni event. Of course, everything she found about Miguel and the Galindos was a carefully designed public relations project only showing the family’s legal businesses and involvement in philanthropy.   
  
Emily looks around her and feels sick. All these flowers going to the seniors at the retirement home — does Miguel actually care about them or is it just a superficial gesture to make it seem like he has a heart?  
  
“…Okay, Em. I’m not saying you can’t be a lawyer and a self-made independent woman. Yay girl power.” Julia pumps her fist up in the air but her expression lacks the enthusiasm to make it convincing. “But think about not having to worry about money or climbing the ladder and having to prove yourself to all these men with penises for brains.”  
  
“Jules, I like Miguel. But I’m not dating him for his —” she shakes her head. What they’re doing can’t really be called dating because they’ve only talked on the phone and sent messages and emails. They’ve only seen each other once and that was the night they met. “— I’m not interested in his money.”  
  
“You can’t say that it’s not tempting.”

* * *

It’s not one delivery person who picks up the flowers; it’s a whole team of them who are in and out of the apartment in under five minutes. When they’re finished, a man in a suit appears at the hallway. He carries with him a bottle of wine and another card from his boss.  
  
Julia happily takes the bottle and pours two glasses, clearly enjoying the privileges of her roommate being wooed by a Galindo.

> _Emily,_  
>   
>  Enjoy girls’ night with your roommate. Tell her you’ll be too busy to hang out tomorrow.  
>   
> Miguel

Emily ignores the offered wine glass as she storms into her room, slamming the door behind her. She reaches for her phone and types out the message, hitting send before she can reconsider and chicken out from telling him what’s really on her mind.  _“Awfully presumptuous of you to think I’d be too busy to hang out with Julia tomorrow night.”_  
  
She huffs as she slumps down the floor, her head thrown back on the edge of the mattress. Her phone dings within seconds and it’s a message from Miguel.  _“May I take you out for an overdue date tomorrow night?”_  Another blue speech bubble appears before she’s even read the last word.  _“Please.”_  
  
Emily sets the phone face down and groans. Outside, she can hear Julia turn up the music and yell at her to come join her free-wine celebratory dance party. Picking her phone up, she types her response and hits send. _“What should I wear?”_  
  
Three dots appear on the screen and she waits for over a minute only for it to disappear. She’s resigned to muttering under her breath, calling this whole thing stupid and silly when her phone alerts her again to a new message. It’s Miguel and he’s not only texted her back, but he’s also sent a picture of himself leaning back on a leather office chair, his tie loosened and top few buttons undone. His hair’s a bit unkempt and his normally clean-shaven face now sports a five-o’clock shadow that she’s very much fond of. Very. Much. Underneath the picture are the words _“surprise me.”_

It’s impossible to sleep that night. Splitting the bottle of wine with Julia doesn’t help in sedating her because all she feels is buzzed with excitement and anxiety. She’s seeing Miguel tomorrow. They’ve talked almost every other night. They text all day like teenagers with smart phones for an extra limb. But who knows what it’ll be like when they’re physically in the same place? The last time they were together, they met for the first time and kissed. What are his expectations for this date? What are hers?  
  
Is she ready to sleep with him?  
  
She rifles through her closet for something to wear. A lot of her nicer dresses are for professional events so they’re tailored to fit her body, but she doesn’t think they’re sexy enough. They’re a little too librarian, she thinks. Miguel said to surprise her, and she knows he didn’t say ‘wear something sexy’, but what else could he mean?   
  
It’s half past seven in the morning when she wakes up on a pile of clothes. Her phone alarm is going off but she’s misplaced the damn thing. She groans when she realizes the muffled noise must mean it’s somewhere underneath all her dresses that are now wrinkled and even more unsuitable for her date tonight.   
  
When she finally unearths her phone and stops the alarm, she sees there’s one new message from Miguel.  _“No pude evitarlo. Enjoy your breakfast.”_  
  
When Emily opens her bedroom door, she finds Julia pulling out take-out containers from a brown paper bag. They open up to reveal breakfast chilaquiles and tacos — still hot like they were freshly made in a chef’s kitchen not too far from their building. “I could really get used to this boyfriend of yours.”  
  
Emily sighs as she takes one of the containers and begins to dig into the food. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she says, even though the first bite has her mentally praising him for doing really well by choosing to send her a Mexican breakfast. It fills her nostalgia bar and makes her miss home, but she ignores all the other thoughts and memories that start to creep back in.   
  
Later that morning, as she’s heading out to work in casual Friday jeans and a plain white t-shirt, she shoots a quick message to Miguel,  _“You’ve ruined Taco Bell for my roommate.”_  
  
 _“It’s a responsibility I take very seriously.”  
_

* * *

Work is strangely busy that day — so busy she almost forgets about her date with Miguel, which works out because it helps her stay focused on her job. It’s not until one of the case managers stops by her desk that she’s reminded of her plans on a Friday night. Julia would be so proud if she wasn’t at the apartment still sleeping off her hangover. The co-worker who stops by is a middle-aged woman, who only ever wears cat-eye glasses and vintage 50s-style dresses in the brightest colors.   
  
“Emily, right?” She reaches over the cubicle wall to offer a handshake. “I’m Bettina from case management. I don’t think we’ve formally met.”  
  
“No, we haven’t,” Emily says as she shakes her hand. “But I’m glad to finally meet you.”  
  
“I just wanted to say thank you.”  
  
“Thank you? For what?”  
  
Bettina raises a brow. “For the flowers… I was visiting my grandmother at the retirement home when they got a massive delivery of hydrangeas. The nurse said they were from you.”  
  
“Oh…” Emily’s eyes widen as she recalls the flowers spilling all over her apartment and how that must’ve looked arriving en masse to the retirement home. She feels her cheeks flush at the thought of all these people thinking she’s some kind of saint for sending flowers to all these elderly people. “It wasn’t really from me.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“It’s a long story,” she begins to explain. “Some guy who was kind of excessive with the flowers.”  
  
Bettina smiles impishly. “Well, aren’t you a lucky girl.”

* * *

> _**From: M.Galindo@GalindoEnterprises.com  
>  To: emily.thomas@cornell.edu** _   
>    
>  _Doesn’t work end at five?_
> 
> _**From: emily.thomas@cornell.edu  
>  To: M.Galindo@GalindoEnterprises.com** _   
>    
>  _It does…. Why?_
> 
> _**From: M.Galindo@GalindoEnterprises.com  
>  To: emily.thomas@cornell.edu** _   
>    
>  _It’s fifteen after and you’re still working._
> 
> _**From: emily.thomas@cornell.edu  
>  To: M.Galindo@GalindoEnterprises.com** _   
>    
>  _That’s creepy. How do you know I’m still working?_
> 
> _**From: M.Galindo@GalindoEnterprises.com  
>  To: emily.thomas@cornell.edu  
> ** _   
>  _Turn off your computer, go outside, and find out._

Emily makes him wait. It’s true – she’s finishing up some work, but it’s work that can wait until Monday. Nonetheless, she makes him wait another fifteen minutes if, indeed, he is outside as she suspects. Inside, she’s bursting with excitement, but she’s trying her best to keep calm and composed while she fills in the last blanks on the form before hitting the submit button. Logging out of the system, she starts collecting her things, sliding some of the items on her desk into a weathered brown tote. She silently curses herself when she eyeballs herself in a small mirror on her desk. She unties her hair from its messy bun and smooths the wrinkles out of her t-shirt. It’s only then she notices a faint orange stain from the popsicle she had for lunch.

There’s a pang of disappointment when the elevator reaches the lobby of the building and Miguel is nowhere to be found. She pushes the doors open, her head lowered to shield her eyes from the sun beating down her face. She’s reaching into her bag for her sunglasses when she catches a glimpse of a man leaning against a cherry-red convertible.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
She blinks back at him, not sure if it’s because he looks good dressed down in jeans and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, or if it’s because the sun’s rays are obscuring her vision.   
  
“I caught an earlier flight,” he says with a sheepish smile as he pushes himself off the car. “I hope you don’t mind.”  
  
“No… uh, hi.”  
  
Miguel meets her at the middle of the sidewalk, his body shielding the sun behind him. As he lowers his aviators, his smile widens. “Worth the wait.”  
  
Her breath hitches in her throat, her heart pounding.  
    
Emily leans up and kisses him, palms flat on his chest. Miguel isn’t expecting it so he’s knocked back a step, but he quickly takes hold of her waist to help steady himself. She moans into the kiss when his fingertips dig a little deeper, finding warm skin and straining to do more than kissing on a public sidewalk would allow. She pulls away, chest rising and falling and heart racing a mile a minute. He doesn’t let go of her waist as he laughs softly before he kisses the shell of her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

He’s a gentleman. The night they met, he gave her his jacket to keep her warm. Tonight, he holds the door open for her, taking her hand as she slides onto the passenger seat. Emily takes a deep breath to quiet the restless thoughts running through her mind. All of those reservations she had about him that were so easy to ignore when he was far away — all of them come back as she takes in the scent of expensive leather. It’s not the money that tempts her. It’s the danger of where that money comes from; it’s the excitement in the dark look in his eyes. Miguel slides into the driver’s side and sticks the key with the yellow horse into the ignition. And as the engine comes to life, it roars.

Ithaca is no longer quiet in the summer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miguel and Emily's first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve Eve, loves. Enjoy!

First dates are often built on the scaffolding of unmet expectations. In Emily’s experience (although there hasn’t been much to speak of), she tries not to get her hopes up when it comes to men who have expressed their interest. Nevertheless, she’s a young woman susceptible to the conditioning of Disney movies and Jane Austen novels, so her mind (inevitably) drifts to thoughts of “the one” and “forever”. Sitting across the table from one first date after another, there’s no avoiding that simmer of anticipation, that bubbling over of the imagination, the snuff of the flame when it doesn’t come close to what she knows it’s supposed to feel like.

Until tonight.

Miguel Galindo is unlike any other boy she’s dated. He’s a man. Not only is he older (by a decade), he’s accomplished and self-assured in a way that speaks for itself. The guys she dated in her undergrad, and the few she’d shared a drink with in law school — they sold themselves to her like they were reading off their resumés, trying to impress her with a volunteer trip to Kenya or an internship at a senator's office in D.C.

She isn’t easily impressed. In fact, after learning Miguel is the heir to the Galindo cartel — the one that holds a firm grip over the East Cali border where she grew up — she was quick to write off his accomplishments as simply a product of his privilege. However, over the last several weeks, as they got to know each other over flirty text messages and phone calls that lasted until dawn, she learned there’s more to him than his inheritance.

He’s a man with his own ambitions. She believes him when he confesses a desire to leave a legacy greater than his father has built — a legacy that maintains power and restores principle to the family name. He has a conscience, but he isn’t righteous. His hunger for power isn’t purely selfish, although he makes no excuses for how far he’s willing to go to secure it. The honesty is refreshing. The drive is invigorating. Intelligent and hard-working. Confident and intense. Ultimately, it isn’t what he’s done that impresses her, it’s his vision of who he needs to become.

Emily and Miguel’s first date begins with a surprise visit to the legal aid clinic where she works for the summer. He shows up in a classic convertible, kisses her for the first time since the night they met, and holds the door open for her in true gentleman fashion. The flush spreads from her cheeks to the rest of her body when he glances sideways, shifting gears and speeding down the open road.

“If I had known you were coming this afternoon, I would’ve dressed up.” She smooths her palms over the blue denim.

“You look great,” he begins as he squeezes her hand gently. “But if you want to change for tonight, we can stop by your apartment.”

“You planned this so I’d invite you back to my place.”

Caught red-handed, Miguel casts her an impish smirk. “I’ll behave myself.”

“Might be a good thing,” she says. “I think my roommate is home and I know she’s been dying to give you the third degree.”

Julia, Emily’s roommate, does indeed have a list of questions for Miguel, including one on how he acquired his wealth at such a young age. Of course, Miguel has an answer that would satisfy even the most intuitive investigator on a federal payroll, much less Julia.

While he gets interrogated in the living room, Emily peels off her clothes and stands in front of her closet, surveying its contents for something to wear. She settles on a yellow and blue floral print dress that falls a few inches above her knees. As she takes the dress off the hanger, she spots a men’s sports coat tucked away in the back of her closet. She straps on a pair of tan sandals and pulls her hair up into a ponytail (probably the best idea for her hair with the car’s top down). Swiping on a pale pink lipstick and a fresh coat of mascara, she studies her reflection and regards her appearance as satisfactory in spite spending most of her day in a dry air-conditioned room away from natural sunlight.

“I’ve been working in New York, renting office space in Tribeca. If you and Emily ever come down to the city, let me know and —” Miguel stops mid-sentence, distracted by the sight of Emily in her fluttery summer dress and HIS blazer. It’s a little oversized on her, but she still wears it better than he ever did. “Nice jacket,” he remarks.

“This old thing?” She spins on the balls of her feet, the hem of her dress circling around her to reveal milky smooth thighs. “A loan from a kind stranger.”

“Must’ve been really kind,” he says, rising from the couch. “Looks like a bespoke jacket.” He grins, dimples on his cheeks and lines crinkling the corners of his warm eyes. The phrase ‘devastatingly handsome’ making a lot more sense when he’s looking at her like that.

“Great,” exclaims Julia, feeling ignored as she plops a throw pillow on her lap. “Now I have to bear witness to the two of you eye-fucking.”

“What? No —” Emily begins defensively. “We weren’t—”

“— Just go, Em.” Her roommate stands and ushers Emily toward the door. “Enjoy your freaking date while I wallow in loneliness,” she cries dramatically before she turns a 180 to address Miguel. “You better treat her right or I’m hunting you down.”

“Jules,” Emily warned.

The brunette smiled sweetly. “You seem like a good guy, Miguel. She’s a really great girl who’s been through a lot —”

“— Jules.”

“She deserves to be treated right.”

Miguel nods, extending his hand for Emily to take. He looks down at her then back at her roommate. “It’s what I intend to do.”

* * *

They have dinner at an exclusive ski resort west of Ithaca along Seneca lake. In the summer, the ski chalet’s glass doors open to fresh mountain air and the still, blue waters of the lake hundreds of feet below. Dinner is served as a seven course meal of small, prettily decorated plates that look more like art than food. But Emily is pleasantly surprised to find each pretentious bite more scrumptious than the last, dismantling any previous notion of fine dining being all hype. Not when seared scallops melt in her mouth like butter.

She spears her fork into a slice of tender prime rib. “I don’t think I can go back to instant ramen and McDonald’s after this.”

“Stick with me and you won’t have to.”

She shakes her head at him. “You can’t take me out to a fancy dinner every night.”

“Who says I can’t?” Miguel challenges, a sly grin turning up at the corners of his mouth. “It might not always be a private dinner, but I can make arrangements if you insist.”

“Private?” Emily looks around and surveys the empty restaurant. There are several tables around them with crisp, white tablecloths but no place settings. No one else is in the restaurant except two waitstaff and the hostess who opened the doors to them and only them. “You didn’t have to do this, Miguel.”

“The resort is closed for the season,” he explains. “The chef’s a friend and I asked if he could open it just for tonight so you’d get to experience my favorite place to eat in the area.”

“You pull favors like this often to impress your dates?”

“No.” Miguel lifts his head, eyes boring into hers with equal parts amusement and intensity. It makes her body course with heat, her heart pounding fast. “I only ask for favors if I’m really, really trying to impress a woman.” He takes a sip of his wine, never breaking eye contact. When he sets the glass down, he reaches for her hand across the table, thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. “Is it working?”

Emily glances away, a smile forcing its way onto her face as she’s unable to hide the fact that his efforts at making this date more lavish and extraordinary is actually working on her. A part of her doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right, but she nods anyway before she sips her wine. She decides she doesn’t regret giving him the satisfaction because the bright smile he sends her from across the table makes her feel warm and a little woozy. Then again, it must be the wine.

Wedged into the rocky face of the mountain and miles away from the nearest town, the ski resort has a spectacular view of the night sky. The stars glimmer against deep black, reflecting onto the still waters in the valley below.

Emily leans over the deck, her head to the sky as she traces imaginary lines to form the constellations she remembers learning from childhood. Warmth envelops her body as Miguel joins her, setting a glass of wine on the ledge. He takes a sip of his own then points to a set of stars forming a lopsided square. “Lyra.”

“The harp?”

“Mhm…” Miguel hums, his arms resting on the ledge, body pinning hers against the railing. He lowers his head, chin brushing lightly over her shoulder, his breath ghosting over the bare skin of her neck. “You know the story of Orpheus and how he played his harp to soothe all anger and weariness except his own? He lost his wife, roamed around with his harp until he was killed and thrown to the sea, but I think he was already dead the moment his wife was gone.”

“That’s depressing.” Emily drinks her wine in hopes of steadying her racing pulse as a result of Miguel’s proximity. The scent of his cologne swathes her in rich amber and expensive leather, his masculine scent clouding the rational part of her brain that doubts a future with a man of his pedigree. She clears her throat. “How are you sure that’s Lyra?”

“See that bright one jutting off the top left corner?” He points at the sky while his other hand slips under the blazer to hold her waist. “That’s Vega, One of the brightest stars midsummer. Can’t miss her.”

Emily leans into him, her back to his chest, feeling her body melting into his like wax taking on a new shape. His grip on her waist skirts along her front, a strong arm wrapping around her to pull her more flush to his body.

“I remember the night I gave my speech in the observatory… after we spent most of it sneaking out of the event and gorging that stolen champagne. I remember you standing against the wall in your catering uniform while most other women were all made up in their shiny dresses. I caught one glimpse of you, trying to blend into the wall behind you, and I lost my train of thought, stumbling over my lines and talking in bullshit platitudes for a whole minute before I remembered why the fuck I was asked to speak in the first place.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered I was such a distraction,” she says as she reaches behind her to place a hand on the side of his neck. “— or if this is your way of telling me I’m no good for your rise to world domination.”

He laughs softly, chest rumbling against her back. “A solitary pursuit of world domination never appealed to me.”

She turns in his hold, tilting her head up to look into his eyes. “Are you asking me to be your partner in crime?”

He smirks devilishly, contradicting the next sentence that comes out of his mouth. “Who says anything about a life of crime?”

“Oh… And here I thought going out with you would lend some excitement to the mundanity of my life.”

“Nothing about you is mundane.” He brushes a lock of hair away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “Besides, I can think of other things I can do to excite you, belleza.”

She bites down on her bottom lip. “Like?”

Miguel weaves his fingers in her ponytail, then down her neck. He holds her gaze, dipping his head lower to brush his lips over hers. The kiss is soft and slow, sweet and enduring like the pour of honey. A simple touch that has the power to reach the farthest places and awaken long-dormant spaces. The kind of kiss that makes everything fade behind the mountains and makes nostalgia sink to the bottom of the lake. Their lips part, tongues tangling languidly, breaths holding back as their hearts swell. Her palms snake from his chest upward, fingers interlacing behind his neck, urging him on to kiss her fierce.

But he pulls away. Forehead resting on hers as he exhales against scorched lips. “It’s getting late,” he whispers. “Let me take you home.”

* * *

The drive back to Ithaca is quiet apart from the sound of strings coming from the speakers. The roof is back on the Ferrari to shield them from the cold, night air. She releases the ponytail, letting her hair fall down in waves over her shoulders. Emily wonders if she had done something wrong. She feels like there was something special shared between them in the kiss and she was certain Miguel felt it, too. But why would he pull away? Why would he stop and end their date so abruptly?

Miguel’s focused on the road ahead, his expression pensive. She wants to ask him what’s going on in his head, but there’s a part of her reluctant to hear the answer. What if the truth hurts her ego? What if he tells her she’s no longer someone worth pursuing?

Here’s a man who makes her feel after several years of trying and failing to find something even remotely comparable to the love that consumed her in adolescence. It wasn’t love at first sight with Miguel (though there was no denying she was physically attracted to him the moment she first laid eyes on him). It certainly hasn’t been easy reconciling her attraction when she knows where he comes from and where he’s headed in spite of his own voiced reservations about getting involved in his father’s line of work. It’s complicated trying to figure him out when he’s so instinctively guarded with his emotions. He’s an enigma, straddling the grey line between good and bad, pushing and pulling between flashes of self-assuredness and indecision. But here’s a man who makes her feel alive — makes her feel brand new in a way that makes her feel more in tune with herself than she’s ever been.

They wait at a red light, only Spanish guitar to fill the stillness of the metal cage around them. Miguel releases a heavy breath and reaches for her hand. Emily stares down at the brush of skin, locking her fingers with his before glancing up to meet the unspoken apology swimming in his eyes.

“I’m staying at the Argos Inn,” he says matter-of-factly. “Would you like to join me for a drink?”

The light turns green.

“Miguel.” She tilts her head toward the windshield, the sides of their faces bathed in a green glow. The car behind them honks but he ignores it, waiting for an answer. “Yes, I’d love to,” she says with a squeeze of his hand. He lets go, changes gear, and speeds off.

The Argos Inn is a neoclassical mansion located half a mile from Cornell and four blocks from her apartment. Miguel has booked one of the rooms on the second floor — a cozy bedroom with a brick fireplace and a bay window with a sitting area. He has a leather duffel bag on a bench at the end of the bed, but otherwise the room has been untouched.

Emily walks over to the window overlooking a paved patio and a garden of flowers in various shades of white and red — the university’s colors. The pop of a cork catches her attention and she turns to find Miguel pouring a bottle of red into two glasses. She meets him halfway across the room and takes one of the offered glasses of wine.

The wine is rich and dry with hints of blackberry and oak. It slides down her tongue, warming her and melting the tiny bit of anxiety that began to twist in her gut the second she realized she was alone with Miguel in his hotel room. He drinks slowly, staring at her from underneath thick, sooty lashes. He presses his lips together in a boyish smirk and looks away, probably feeling the same shyness that overcame her when she stepped into the room with the king-sized bed and Egyptian cotton sheets.

It emboldens Emily to see this unassuming, bashful side of him. Setting her glass down, she closes the space between them and sets a hand on his chest, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall with every breath. With her other hand, she takes his wine glass and takes a sip before setting it down on the table behind her, never losing his fixed stare. Never missing the part of his lips, the slow lick of his bottom lip, the change of his eyes to onyx.

“Take off your jacket,” she commands.

A wrinkle forms between his brows as he frowns. “I’m not wearing —” And then realization hits and his gaze lowers to the tailored sports coat Emily wears over her dress. He traces up the lapels, tugging just above the swell of her breasts to pull her closer. She plants both palms on his chest to restore her balance while Miguel slowly slides the jacket down her shoulders. A pink flush on her pale skin rises from her heaving chest all the way up to her cheeks.

He lowers his head, kissing the junction of neck and shoulder as he continues the tortuous slide down her arms until the jacket pools at her feet. Then he pulls away, taking one look at her before he devours her lips in a kiss so fierce she falls backward, his arm looping around her waist to catch her. She grabs onto his shirt, tearing a button or two. Miguel growls into the kiss, sending a spark of electricity down every nerve ending between her unsteady legs. She gasps when his teeth tug on her bottom lip, sucking blood to the surface, while his hands grip the flesh of her ass.

Hoisting her up, he pivots to the bed, setting her down. He stands over her and pulls his shirt apart, scattering pearly buttons across the carpet. She stares at him, drinking every delicious groove of toned muscle and swallowing every last lascivious thought of his dominance and masculinity. She should be ashamed of her sudden need to be dominated, to be held down by her wrists while he takes her; but she doesn’t care. She wants him. She bends her knees and reveals black lace and a pink flush that stretches over parted legs.

Miguel roughly pushes her knees farther apart and lays down between her legs, diving in for a kiss that steals her breath. She wraps her arms around him, squeezing at muscle and scratching at skin. His lips trail open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and neck. His hands pull at the straps of her dress while he pushes his hardness against her sex, earning a whimper at the feel of him, the size of him, the anticipation of him.

“My god, you’re beautiful.” He looks her over from face to chest, bra pulled down with the neckline of her dress. Lowering his head, he kisses the soft skin and caresses the pliant flesh. He takes one rosy nipple into his hot mouth, tongue laving at the tip before he’s sucking. Emily bucks against him, her mouth parting in pleasure. He does the same to the other side, alternating between grazes of his teeth and soothing licks of his tongue.

“I need you,” she rasps.

“You need me?” he repeats the question, kissing the underside of her breast, then the last of her ribs, then a small scar to the right of her belly button. “You need me to do what exactly?”

“Miguel.” She arches her back when he nips at the apex of her thigh. “Please.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you…” She trails off breathlessly, fingers coursing through his hair. “I want you to fuck me.”

“No,” he says, pulling swiftly at the dress. She kicks the rest of it off and reaches behind her to unclasp her bra, throwing it off the side of the bed. He retreats as his eyes run over every strawberry milk inch of her body, then he reaches down to his pants to adjust himself. It’s one of the hottest things she’s ever seen in her life. Miguel unbuttons his pants, but stops like he knows exactly what it’s doing to her resolve. “You said you need me.”

Emily sits up on her forearms and glares at him for drawing out the foreplay and forcing her to admit how much she needs to feel him, strong and dominant, inside her. She pulls him by the back of his neck, allowing him to crush her, lips mashing in a heated kiss before she’s shoving him off. “I need you to fuck me.”

It’s all he needs to hear before he’s shedding off every last shred of clothing on his body. His cock springs free, hot and heavy in his fist. She swallows hard and watches him close his eyes and stroke himself for a few seconds. Then before she knows it, he’s tugging at her lacy underwear and lowering himself between her legs. His cock slides up her thigh then he settles at her wetness, grinding down in long, languid strokes that make her toes curl and her eyes roll to the heavens.

He sucks at her skin, marking a bruise on the base of her throat. “I need to taste you,” he murmurs as if branding her isn’t enough. He begins his trail of kisses down her body, but she stops him just as he reaches her stomach, grabbing him by his shoulders.

“Later,” she pants with urgency. “Please. I need you to fuck me. Now.”

Miguel’s gaze darkens before he closes his eyes and kisses her hard, reaching blindly for the nightstand drawer only to feel a hardbound book. The Bible is a reminder of the sin they’re about to commit, but neither care as they let their most basic instincts take over. “Wait,” Miguel says, breaking the kiss to turn around and reach into his duffel bag, digging through clothes and casting them off to the floor before he retrieves a pack of condoms. As he slides one on, Emily sits up and wraps her arms around him, kissing the broad expanse of his back. She gasps when he quickly spins her around, driving her back into the mattress. He kisses her as his fingers slip past her wetness, testing her readiness with slow thrusts into her sex, curling at a spot that has her moaning and nearly unravelling before him.

Guiding the head of his cock between her folds, Miguel eases his way in, taking his time to watch Emily’s reaction with every exquisite inch. Her eyes are sealed tight, lips pressed together as she tries to accommodate his size. She wraps around him like a vise, and he wants nothing more than to drive into her relentlessly, to feel her walls throb for him; but he saves all that for later. Now, he wants to focus on her. He wants her to enjoy this. He wants their first time to be at her pace and all about her pleasure. As he gradually drives into the hilt, he grinds his hips down and bumps her clit. Blue eyes flash open and she releases the most deliciously addicting moan.

“Fuck.” Miguel kisses her lips before he repeats the motion, rolling his hips and garnering the same reaction from the woman underneath him.

Emily can’t remember the last time she’s been fucked so beautifully. God, she can barely even remember her name as he speeds up his thrusts, pulling back farther so he can impale her with more force. She wraps her legs around him, meeting him with every thrust as she melts into the absolute bliss he’s delivering. It feels like he’s everywhere all at once — grasping at her hips, squeezing her tits, kissing and breathing in every ‘oh my god’ that slips from her mouth.

Fingers intertwined and pushed over her head, his momentum does not let up, building up that ball of pleasure at the base of her stomach. With each drive deep inside her, the pleasure coils tighter and tighter. Her mind in a fog, so lost in the sensory overload — from the heat of his skin, the scent of sweat and cologne and sex, the sound of their bodies rutting against each other and the low roar that rumbles out of him when her nails dig into his back.

She’s about to tell him she’s close, that she can feel the coils tightening to the point where any more pressure will cause the threads to fray and explode like confetti. But when she opens her eyes and sees him watching her with ravenous intensity, she knows he knows how close she is to coming undone. He feels it too. It only takes one roll in the sheets before he’s addicted to the feel of her creamy soft skin, the warm vanilla and jasmine cloud when he buries his nose in her hair, the way she moans his name when he fucks her so good and hard.

Tearing away from his kiss, Emily cries out in orgasm. That tightness in her belly unravelling and letting it wash over her body in tides. The inn’s walls aren’t thick enough to conceal the sounds she makes as she surrenders to her body, letting the climax take over every cell and every rational thought. There’s no room to feel shame when all she feels is Miguel — his mouth, his hands, his cock. He rolls his hips and sinks into her. Rolls his hips and sinks into her. Rolls his hips and sinks deep, deep into her, burying himself into her depths until he groans his release.

There’s a wicked part of her that had hoped her date with Miguel would end with some really good, restore-your-faith-in-men kind of sex. She never sees it coming when, less than ten minutes after they’re coming down from their first orgasms, he settles himself between her legs, smiles up at her, and exceeds all first date expectations. He’s ruined it for her, and for that she’s never been more grateful.

 

 


End file.
